


You're in my blood

by EnlacingLines



Series: Forever as one in what remains [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Lance (Voltron), Pilot Lance (Voltron), Post S8, Post Season 8, Post-Canon, Supportive Keith (Voltron), and canon won't take that away from me, because Lance was meant to fly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: It was that part which somewhere along the way extinguished. Flying became a vehicle of war, a method of death and destruction. He flew Blue then Red, loved each moment for so long until he didn’t anymore.It no longer felt like living a dream, fulfilling a destiny. It was just devastation.Lance flies again after all these years. Part 4 of a post-season 8 Klance series





	You're in my blood

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful support of this series! It's good to be back :) 
> 
> This takes place within the timeline of the previous story, where Keith watches Lance fly again for the first time after many years. This is Lance's perspective. 
> 
> Essentially, I hate how canon took away Lance's passion for flying, so I'm giving it back. I love pilot Lance, dammit. 
> 
> I could go on and on, but I won't. Hope you enjoy reading!

Lance still remembers his first flight. He doesn’t recall the destination or much else other than the experience, but every single moment from stepping on to the aircraft until the final descent is preserved as if it were only yesterday. 

 

A family trip, pacing hand in hand with his father as they walked down the pristine white tunnel-world of the gangway; the prelude to an adventure. He could hear the whir of the engines even from there, the start ups and processes as he stepped into the aircraft itself. 

 

It was a passenger flight, the usual narrow aisle with seats in threes either side, his mind conjuring the tone of the midnight blue carpeted floors clearly.  His family argued around him about who sat where, his twin sister still crying at the unfamiliarity, held by his mother and coddled onto her lap as they took their places. Lance was allowed the window seat despite Luis’ protests, and he watched the set ups; hands pressed to the glass, a new world of performance in the patterns of those on ground in their high visibility jackets, their tasks a joy and fascination. 

 

He must have watched the safety demonstration, his parents would have insisted, but he only remembers gazing out, craning his neck and being scolded when he tried to remove his seat-belt to gain a better view of the wings. It was a wonderland of metallic possibilities, and he was in true disbelief this contraption could actually fly through the air. 

 

And then, it started.

 

He could feel the vibrations beneath, the soft rocks and jolts as they taxied, Lance’s eyes wide, his father going through each change and pace of the plane as it took position. Lance remembers being asked if he wanted to hold his father’s hand but he didn't; this was curious exhilaration, not something he needed comfort for. 

 

The roar of the engines was deafening for a second, then faded to a constant rumble as they accelerated, faster and faster, as if they would simply drive to their destination. Then, without warning, they were weightless. He felt himself carried with the lift off, the bottom of the plane solid as they sliced through the air on their way upwards. Lance was pressed as close to the window as he could be, mouth open as they shifted, turned and abandoned the ground. He watched the houses and streets become but a photograph and then into the clouds. Fluffy nothingness, the occasional bump and shift that had him grinning each time, while his sister screamed. It was a ride, a twist, sailing upwards and over until after only a short time, they settled into cruising. 

 

He chatted to the cabin crew, all of them happy to see him walk up and down, marveling each time that he was in the sky, actually above the clouds and flying like the birds he’d seen from his window each day. 

 

Landing was just as much of a rush, the tip of the plane, the slight turn of the wings as they circled. He noticed, once again molded to the window, the flaps as they lifted, landing gear engaging, clocking the bump and drone of the activities. Lance marveled as the city beneath him grew, houses becoming life size, land and seas sprawling out as they hit the runway. 

 

Planes became his obsession after that, and when he realised he could actually fly them, he knew it was what he had to do. That day was a memory of possibility, of the incredible feats which could be achieved; the rush and the motion of the flight a dance, a game, pure excitement. The fact he could also go into space, higher and further than most would ever travel, only inspired him more.

 

It was not easy, though. From the high drop out rate of training, the low acceptance rate of the Garrison, having no sponsor or recommendation; the odds were stacked heavily against him. But Lance worked for it, persevered through his training and studied everything to get the right grades and the best references.  Even though he gained cargo pilot status, in the beginning it didn’t matter. He would get to fighter class. He had to. He was born for this, born to be skyward, had felt it in his dreams, his bones, his essence. 

 

Turned out, he was destined for more. 

 

Even in his wildest dreams he could not have predicted becoming a Paladin of Voltron, a defender of the universe, flying alien technology across galaxies. But then again, a tiny part of him could; a small kernel of the child that stayed glued to the window, the part which pushed him when he was tired and wanted to give in, kept him clinging on when the rest of him felt unworthy and lonesome. 

 

It was that part which somewhere along the way extinguished. Flying became a vehicle of war, a method of death and destruction. He flew Blue then Red, loved each moment for so long until he didn’t anymore. Until they started to loose too much, see too much, forget themselves and Lance could no longer recall what things on Earth he’d longed for and needed. It was just battle, regret, and being pushed away and down by all around him. 

 

It no longer felt like living a dream, fulfilling a destiny. It was just devastation. 

 

Then he lost Allura, and soon after the Lions left. 

 

He missed Red and Blue. That thrum in the back of his mind, the powerful pressure that had been with him for years fell suddenly silent, becoming forever alone in his own head. Long ago when they first switched Lions, a part of him already ached for the warm steady beat of Blue, but even when he moved to Red, Lance could still feel it like a dream at the edge of his consciousness. But the high frequency buzz of Red left a jagged hole, one all consuming and brilliant in it’s ferocity. 

 

So after that final, brutal abandonment, he remained on the ground. Buried himself and the spark, did not think to fan the ashes and see if the coals still burned beneath. Flying brought with it all the memories of the mistakes they’d made, those they could not save and all he’d left behind. If he traced his life back from the present it all returned to that very first flight, that love which lead him ultimately to Blue. And he couldn’t stand it, could no longer find joy in something which had brought him to his knees in the end. 

 

Time passed. He remained grounded. But, as he took paces, dragged himself out, tiny flickers came forth. He’d watch a movie with his brother and comment on unrealistic flight maneuvers. He’d draw accurate pictures for his niece of different planes to help with an assignment. He spoke to Keith mid flight, watched his hands move on the controls and he could see himself doing it, remember just what to do next as Keith did so, and could imagine himself in his place. 

 

As he started to come to terms with the past, so did his love of flying resurface. It was easy to package up hurts together, find a vehicle to blame it on, to try and attribute all his pain on something like flying, as if by not doing it he could never be hurt again. Except it did not work, he knew so, and by ensuring he felt and understood his pain, he could get back the part of him which had always loved being a pilot. 

 

“It’s in your blood,” Shiro said, as he agreed happily to set up Lance’s test flight. 

 

Lance keeps these words with him as mantra on the morning itself, waving at Keith and Hunk as he steps towards the plane. It’s been years, but Lance can still picture his first flight at the Garrison, in a plane much like this, beginning at this very spot. And it makes him smile a little, gives him the push he needs to enter the cockpit and close the door. 

 

Once inside, he lets out a wavering breath. 

 

His hands tremble, and he has to close his eyes to steady himself. He is nervous. A thousand bad memories of flights surface: of battling with the Galra, of his Lion being hit, of watching his friends under the duress of heavy fire he was certain they could not endure. With effort, he pushes back. He is safe. No enemies, no battle, no purpose other than to soar.  He can do this. 

 

“Ready when you are, Lance,” Shiro says, startling him truly into the moment as his voice calls through the comms channel. 

 

Lance takes a moment. Just a breath, another chance to stabilise. 

 

“Right. Engaging engines,” he says, and it’s like clockwork. He goes through the initial checks, starts up the engine and waits for Shiro’s signal that he has permission to go. He is retracing his own steps, sure he can do this blindfolded, the knowledge in itself a comfort. 

 

“Permission to take off, Lance.” 

 

This is it. This is where it starts, or ends depending on how he feels. But a small voice which sounds rather like Keith whispers to him that he can do this. He’s meant for this. He’s ready for this. So letting that voice support him, Lance grips the controls and the plane moves. 

 

A roar, the same roar as that first flight as a child, but the volume all consuming as he’s at the helm, and the plane speeds across the runway, grey tarmac all he can see. His breathing accelerates slightly, his muscles lock but he switches to the correct controls, pulls back and the plane lifts. He shakes as it does, rocky in it’s first drive upwards, the wind making itself known. But he holds on, adjusts and adapts, just as he always has, calming himself through audible heavy breaths. 

 

It all just falls away. 

 

For Lance is  _ flying. _ He is airborne in less time than he remembers, and all he can see is sky for miles. He glides through the clouds, steadies the craft before turning, controls almost dancing in his hands, the fluidity of movement surprising him in the best sort of way. He listens to Shiro give instructions and follows, not quite perfectly, but he does complete each ask as it is given. 

 

At first it feels foreign, the plane moving well under his guidance, but he keeps checking and second guessing each moment, eyes half on the stats before him, a reassurance of alignment. He almost waits to hear a growl or a purr in his mind, a presence nudging him to his next move, but of course it is not there. He last flew a sentient machine, this is an adjustment in many ways. This time, it’s all Lance. It terrifies him for a second, and the plane wavers, just a tilt too much to the left. However, he modifies quickly, knows how to and it produces a tiny flicker of hopefulness. He may be alone in his head now, but his head knows what to do. 

 

After a further few minutes of instructions and completed circuits, a calm comes to him. He’s doing well, doesn’t need to obsessively check each number, can follow the guiding words from Shiro, whom he trusts completely. He does remember and he can enjoy it, savour each moment and really feel what it’s like to fly. 

 

For what it feels like is infinity. A soaring becoming, a home within himself, and he believes in this second a restoration begins inside as he curls to the right in a final loop back towards the Garrison. He lets out a startled laugh as the realisation of what he’s achieved hits and he begins the sequence of descent. 

 

A fracture starts to mend as the flight draws to a close, a crack filled and a long cold ember bursts into flame. Lance was right, has always been right about flying. He was born for this. It sits within like his heartbeat, like his adoration of his family, like his love for Keith. He cannot forget it, it’s etched into his being, and always will be. 

 

He recalls then, that time in Blue so long ago, and as he comes in for landing he cheers in the same way he did on his first real trip as a Paladin, and hears Shiro laugh merrily in reply. He wonders if Shiro remembers too, hopes he does and his smile is so wide it aches. And he is ready to be on the ground then, ready to share this moment and hear from Shiro, to celebrate with Hunk who has been almost as excited as Lance for this. 

 

Ready to see Keith. To pull him close, to have that love of flying back, their shared obsession. To kiss him with all the adrenaline he has coursing through, to thank him for being here and for supporting this choice from the very start. For walking with him in this direction but letting him take his own time to get here. He is so grateful to have Keith in his life, and especially to have him here today, to see this and live it with him. 

 

He lands. Smoothly, and without a hitch, another laugh escaping as touches ground. He’s unsure if he wants to keep laughing, scream or burst into tears, it’s all so much of the fantastic he doesn’t know how to keep it inside. 

 

So he doesn’t. He turns off the comms for a moment and just screams into the silence, ending on a high laughing sob. He has missed this so much, this feeling, this side of him that had been worn away into almost nothing from tragedy upon tragedy, but he has it back. 

 

He is a boy in a plane leaving the ground for the first time.  He is a Garrison student learning how to fly in a real machine.  He is the Blue Paladin, ice ray firing, heart of the team.  He is the Red Paladin, sword at the ready, right hand man and half of the wings of Voltron. 

 

He is Lance McClain: he is and always will be a pilot. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, I hate you canon. 
> 
> Come find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/) and [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com).


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